by Michael Bray
He swallowed, and took a last long drag on his cigarette, then dropped it to the floor and stubbed it out under his huge black boot.
“I was left with no choice. They say it doesn’t, but when you are on your arse with no other choice, crime pays. I did a bit of this, a bit of that. Anything to scrape enough money to last for another few days.”
He turned to Donald, and opened his jacket, revealing a silver handgun strapped into a homemade holster.
“I was here tonight to rob the place, fella. I was here to put some food in my kid’s mouth, and if that meant pistol whipping some security guard and frightening a few shoppers, then make no mistake. I was prepared to do it.”
He closed his jacket and lowered his head.
“And then all this happened, and here I am— stuck here like everyone else. So go ahead and judge me if you want to, but I didn’t do anything I wouldn’t do again if it helped to keep my family together.”
“It’s not for me to judge you, son,” Donald said. “You did what you felt you had to, and I can respect that. As for what you just told me, it will go no further, unless you choose to tell it to anyone else.”
Lee looked Donald in the eye, his face a mixture of relief and gratitude.
“Thanks, fella. I appreciate it.”
He looked as if he were going to elaborate when he saw the door to Nicu’s office open. “Looks like our boy is comin’ back.”
Garrett walked slowly out of the office and began to make his way back towards the main group.
“Your ticker up for a stroll, old fella?” Lee asked with a half-smile.
“Just you try to stop me,” Donald said as he got to his feet, arthritic knees screaming in protest.
They met Garrett halfway down the store, and as they approached, Donald could see just how pale and tired he looked. He appeared to have aged impossibly since he first entered Nicu’s office.
“How did it go?” Donald asked despite the answer being written all over his face.
Garrett opened his mouth to answer and was silenced by a booming voice from behind.
“There they are!”
The trio turned around to see Bernard pointing at them. Accusing eyes stared from behind him, as a sick grin appeared on Bernard’s face.
“I told you! They’re scheming against us. Conversing with our captors, whilst we sit here waiting for them to fulfill their false promises.”
“Bernard, look––”Garrett began, but Bernard would not be silenced.
“No, you look! First of all, you come to us with these stories of plans and seeking help, and in the next breath you slink away to have private discussions with those who keep us here.”
“You need to let me explain—”
“I don’t have to do anything,” Bernard bellowed, ejecting flecks of spittle onto his chin as he looked at the people, who were again gathered in a rough circle. He seemed to be thriving on the attention.
“You and your group are poison. You’re trying to infect us and gain our trust, and then when our backs are turned, you’ll hand us over to them,” he growled, pointing at the door to Nicu’s office.
“Hey, pal,” Lee barked. “Unless you want another bloody nose, I’d keep your mouth shut.”
Garrett expected Bernard to crumble at this, or at least lose some of his swagger, but instead he seemed to enjoy it. He flashed his twisted smile, a gesture only a whisker away from a horrified grimace.
“Intimidation. More threats of violence. Is this how it’s going to be?”
Bernard turned to the surrounding crowd, addressing them calmly, although he was unable to quite drop the too wide, too white grin.
“Are you prepared to accept this? Are you prepared to let these people decide our collective fate? Because I for one am not.”
“Then what do you suggest, son?” Donald asked.
Bernard grew serious. The attention seemed to have made him swell, to grow into a giant. He had become a powerful and intimidating presence.
“What do I suggest?” Bernard repeated smugly. “I suggest we stop waiting for those people to come and pick us off one at a time. I suggest we weed out the people who conspire against us and do what’s best for the greater good.”
He glared at the three of them: Bernard, Lee, and Garrett, and then flashed a wide grin.
“I suggest we offer to them those who would have done the same to us.”
Ice filled Garrett’s veins. Not only at the cold and emotionless tone in Bernard’s voice, but because those watching didn’t laugh him off, or claim him crazy. Instead, he felt dozens of pairs of eyes on him and a voice deep inside his mind whispered the words he already knew.
These people are considering it.
“Let me tell you this, fella,” Lee said, glaring at Bernard. “You can stand there in that expensive suit and spout as much shite as you like, but let me warn you or anyone else who plans to try anythin’ stupid, that I play dirty, and I play to win. You might wanna bear that in mind.”
Bernard watched, his smile wavering for a second. Garrett thought that under ordinary circumstances, he would have backed down, but he had an audience now. An audience that seemed interested in what happened next. Garrett had no intention of speaking and didn’t realize he was about to until it happened.
“All right, enough!” he said, looking at the ghostly, frightened faces all around him.
“You people have no idea what we are up against. Yeah, it’s true I went in there. I won’t deny that, but it had nothing to do with some stupid bullshit conspiracy like this crazy son of a bitch is claiming.”
A few of the watching crowd seemed less certain and shot each other confused glances. But not Bernard. Still, he stood with that icy grin and unwavering stare.
“I went in there to see if I could negotiate a release, a release for all of us. You were all looking to me, and I didn’t know what to do.”
“So what happened?” said a leathery, bearded man dressed in khaki combat trousers and a grubby vest. Garrett licked his lips, trying to decide the best way to relay the next chunk of information.
“Look, I didn’t want to do this. I know this is going to make me sound crazy and make him look like the sanest person in here,” he said, nodding towards Bernard, who still hadn’t moved.
“This isn’t a hostage situation, and these aren’t just sadistic murderers.”
He hesitated, looking at the people who watched back intently.
“They’re vampires.”
An incoherent mutter rose, as people spoke in groups. Garrett noticed with dismay nobody had taken him seriously. Some had laughed, others pointed and whispered. Garrett stole a quick glance at Lee, who also seemed to be struggling to hide a smirk. Only Donald remained impassive and watched the proceedings with a concerned frown.
“Why is it such a stretch to believe? Look what’s on the damn shelves!” Garrett blurted which even to himself, made him sound like he was a few sandwiches short of a picnic.
“And so, that’s our grand revelation!” Bernard boomed, his confident swagger restored.
“We are meant to believe we’re held here by the boogeyman.”
“Bernard—”
“No, Mr. Garrett. I think we’ve all heard enough. People are already frightened without you giving us some half-baked tale of monsters and things that go bump in the night.”
“You son of a bitch!” Garrett roared, and lunged towards Bernard, but Lee grabbed him in a huge bear hug before he could make any real progress.
“Leave it, pal. It’s not worth it,” Lee whispered to Garrett, who was straining to get to Bernard.
“I’m telling the truth, and that prick is putting everyone’s life at risk by laughing it off as a damn joke,” Garrett hissed.
Bernard was unwavering. He stood defiant and watched Garrett with contempt.
“Believe what you will, Mr. Garrett,” he said, shaking his head in disdain. “The rest of us— the sane and rational people— will discuss our real options
regarding leaving here alive.”
Bernard walked away, and Garrett was dismayed to see almost everyone in the store went with him. Garrett stood alone as Lee released his grip.
“You okay, son?” Donald asked.
“Not really, but what else can I do?”
“You can start,” Lee said, “by telling us exactly what you found out in that damn office.”
Garrett nodded and looked at Donald.
“Are you still with me?”
“I’ve seen enough in my time to believe anything is possible, son,” he said with a warm smile.
“I’d suggest we relocate to a different part of the store, though,” he added, nodding to the people who now almost universally glared at them mistrustfully. “I think we’ve worn out our welcome here.”
“Agreed. Come on.”
The group gathered by the beer coolers in the alcohol aisle. Garrett looked at the faces of those surrounding him. First the old familiars. Lee, Donald, Helen. There were some new faces, too. They had been joined by the guy in the khaki fatigues who Garrett had spotted earlier and also a young Hispanic man with a poorly maintained caterpillar mustache and a vast landscape of acne scars across his face. They all looked at him attentively, waiting to hear what he knew. He composed his thoughts and began.
“Before I get into it, I need to ask you all to do me one thing.”
“Shoot," said Lee around his cigarette.
“He— the manager— told me all about what he is and why we’re here. He also said I was free to share the information with whoever I saw fit, something in hindsight was probably a deliberate motion to divide the group which— by the looks of things— has worked. Either way, I’ll tell you what he told me. All I ask is you let me finish and get it all out in the open.”
“Then what?” asked khaki guy.
“Then,” Garrett said, “we get the hell out of here.”
“Okay, Ray,” Donald said. “The floor is yours.”
Leena
Leena’s headache was on the verge of becoming a vicious migraine. It throbbed and probed at the back of her eyes and bored into the center of her brain. She squinted at the harsh strip lights overhead and wished for darkness, at least until she thought about the people they were trapped with, and then the idea of the dark frightened her. They were too bright, too invasive. She shot a concerned glance towards Mark, but he was no longer speaking and hadn’t been for some time. Instead, he stared into oblivion, mouth partially open, the bottle of beer she had given him still held loose and untouched in his hand. She leaned close and looked into his eyes but the smell of his breath— spoiled and pungent— made her recoil. She didn’t want to admit it. In fact, want was too weak a word. She refused to admit he now looked more like one of the others— the broken ones who haunted the rows of produce like slack jawed ghouls. Unable to look at him anymore, she walked the store, desperate to escape from Mark and those blank, sightless eyes. She kept away from the aisles themselves as she knew she wouldn’t be able to bear the horrors that lurked amid the otherwise ordinary stock. Instead, she kept to the perimeter, keeping close to the non-edible things. The home furnishings, the CD and DVD section. Things that brought a little normality to an otherwise abnormal world. She had removed her shoes and was enjoying the sensation of cold tiles on her skin when she saw him.
Bo.
He was lurking by the fresh fruit stand. Her heart began to beat ferociously in her chest, and every fiber in her wanted to run, but she willed herself not to show fear. She walked towards him, careful not to break her stride. He watched her come, a frightened girl out of her depth and at the end of her own ability to remain rational and calm. She, in turn, watched him back. A sweating, foul smelling troll who licked his lips and was barely able to hide his excitement as she neared.
She held her nerve and walked past him, keeping her gaze fixed firmly ahead—determined to prove a point. She expected to feel him groping out for her, reaching for her ass or worse, but she remained unhindered and was now safely past him. She exhaled deeply; not realizing she had been holding her breath and even allowed herself a smile, a small victory no matter how trivial, was a big deal to her. It was then, with her guard down, that he grabbed her. She tried to scream, but his filthy, fat hand was covering her mouth, and the other was around her waist. She struggled to free herself, but despite his small stature, Bo was incredibly strong. She felt herself being dragged away from the safety of the familiar electronic gizmos— Blu Rays and iPods and overpriced mobile phones that had apps for everything under the sun— and towards the restrooms. Bo dragged her kicking and struggling into the men’s room, the door swinging gently shut behind them.
Nobody in the store had noticed what had happened.
SALLY’S PROMISE
He’d found her slumped in the corner, behind a mound of cheap polyester jackets she’d taken off the rack. At first, he thought she was settling down to sleep, and then noticed the look in her eye.
“How’s it going?” Mark said as he sat cross-legged beside her.
Sally didn’t answer. Mark’s eyes shifted to the bottles in the well she’d made in the blankets between her legs.
“Don’t,” she said, looking him in the eye. “Just don’t say anything.”
“You don’t need to do this. You have a daughter, we might still get out of this,” he said, blinking away tears.
“You don’t believe that. I can see it in your eyes. We’re all as good as dead.”
“But you have to hope. You have to fight.”
“I can’t. I won’t watch those things cut us up. I can’t put my little girl through it. Good god, she can’t see that.”
Sally was crying now, and yet there were no sobs, no sniffles, just a line from each eye. It was almost as if she wasn’t even aware she was doing it. He had to fight the urge to reach out and touch them to see if they were real.
“She needs you,” he whispered. “You’re her mother.”
“Remember your promise,” she said, eyes wide as she stared at him.
Mark felt his stomach roll. “Wait, just let’s see how it plays out, we don’t know.”
“It’s too late. I’ve already taken them,” she said, managing a half smile.
Mark grabbed the bottles, counting three empty ones amid those still unopened.
“You can’t do this, you have to be there for her,” Mark said, unsure if he was more upset or angry.
“I have to go first. Do you understand?” she said, her words starting to slur. “To meet her. I have to go first.”
She lay down. Mark held her hand, transfixed by her pale pink nail varnish.
“I sent her to get another magazine. Told her I was going to take a nap,” she said, closing her eyes.
“I can’t do it, I thought I could, but I can’t,” Mark replied, bottom lip trembling.
“You promised. You have to. Don’t make me go alone. Send her to me. I’ll wait for her. Don’t keep her from me.”
She drifted off. Mark waited and watched until she stopped breathing. He’d hoped death would bring her peace, yet when he looked at her, he saw her lifeless face screwed into a scowl. Her words echoed back to him, and he knew what he had to do.
Dazed, he’d gone back to Leena, intending to tell her of his promise, to ask her advice. However, he found the words wouldn’t come. She gave him a beer, and even tried to talk to him, yet he felt like he was in a bubble, underwater somewhere deep and dark. He was in a place where voices seemed distant and faint, more like whispers from the past. He saw Leena leave, heading barefoot towards the back of the store.
He waited until she was out of sight, then headed to the magazine aisle to fulfill the promise he had made.
II
He used a pillow from the home goods aisle. He tried not to think about what he was doing, even when she kicked and scratched at him. Thankfully he couldn’t see it, his vision blurred by tears as he pressed the pillow over her face. When it was done and she stopped kicking, he l
aid her out under a rack of shirts, putting the pillow under her head and covering her with the blanket.
As he stood, his mind broken at what he had done, he was vaguely aware that nothing that happened to him from then on could be a worse hell than which he’d just experienced. He looked at those who walked the aisles in blissful peace, a zombie-like lack of awareness and thought it might be worth a try. Anything to sooth the absolute shame, guilt and devastation which raced through him. He started to look inwards, seeing how far he could go, looking for something good amongst the darkness he felt inside.
What Happened with Nicu
Garrett found that his story— as wild and ridiculous as it sounded even to him, was still being reasonably well received by his small party of interested listeners, and so far nobody had walked away, called him a fruitcake, a nut-ball or anything else that would bring his sanity into question. Of course, he hadn’t really told them much at all yet, none of the things that mattered anyway, but he knew the time for being selective with his information was over, and no matter how much he was trying to put it off, he had to tell them the part that even he found difficult to believe. He paused and took a long drink of his beer. It was bitter and cold and soothed his throat, which felt dry and sore. He toyed with further delaying telling of the next part, fearing its sheer unreality would either push people over the edge or make him a laughing stock, then almost instantly dismissed the idea. Even so, he wasn’t sure how to proceed. Nicu had overloaded him with information, and Garrett was struggling to process it. He half wished he had put off the telling until he had managed to gather his own thoughts. It was too rushed, too soon too—